-----Ditch rustled in his deep slumber. The brown hat tipped across his bloodied horns sheltered his eyelids from the sharp moonlight. A brisk breeze swept through the Hideout. I guess someone left the window open...

Felcrak's hooves dug into the grassy turf, his eyes wide. Fear etched itself across the young tauren's face, the twenty so orcs surrounding him stirring for blood. He towered above the orcs, his innocent posture far heftier than any of theirs. He held an iron axe, standard issue - mark III, in each hand. His palms perspired in awkwardness. The war drums stopped. Felcrak took a deep breath, which suspended in his lungs, in limbo.

The young tauren's innocence was about to die.

"RIGHT FLANK! INCOMING! HEADS DOWN! CHARRRRRRRGGEEEEEE!!!!

Felcrak charged, fear clawing at his heels. He was on the second row back. A thin wall of green flesh and muscle was all that was between him, and what he thought was his imminent death. The frontline hit. Almost instantly, a severed elven fist, bone inching from the indignant purple flesh, flew over his shoulder in a flourish of blood and shrieks in Common.

"PUSH MEN, PUSH! BLOOD! HONOR!!"

Felcrak rushed around, foreign blood now splayed across his face, in blind panic. Arrows zoomed over his head. Friend and foe fell, writhing in hellish torment, limbs scattered. The war drums began to pound, once again.

A human charged at Felcrak, dashing skillfully over the bodies, screaming inaudibly. His sword was raised, his shield was poised. The terrified tauren stood, numb, his axes at his side limply. Metal flashed before his face. Blood spewed fro-

Felcrak sat up sharply, eyes wide, glistening. He panted, feeling his face, with an anxious, worried curve carved into his brow. The sound of his gruff breathing died in the soft wood of the Hideout. All was quiet. Tiny twitched in the darkness of the Hideout, sleeping softly.